


I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

by cowboykylux



Series: Zannah's 12 Days of Oneshots [11]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon Jewish Character, Dating, F/M, Fluff, Jewish Character, Jewish Reader, Pre-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Flip, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and Flip is in a bit of a bad fuckin’ mood. He doesn’t know why the hell he agreed to this, to the station party. Maybe because he was a rookie cop wanting to fit in with the big dogs, or maybe it was your holiday spirit being entirely too infectious, but he had agreed, and he was regretting it big fuckin’ time.You just look too damn good, that was the problem.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Series: Zannah's 12 Days of Oneshots [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569352
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

_The snow is snowing and the wind it is blowing_

_But I can weather the storm_

_What do I care how much it may storm?_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm_

It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and Flip is in a bit of a bad fuckin’ mood. He doesn’t know why the hell he agreed to this, to the station party. Maybe because he was a rookie cop wanting to fit in with the big dogs, or maybe it was your holiday spirit being entirely too infectious, but he had agreed, and he was regretting it big fuckin’ time.

You just look too damn good, that was the problem. You look too good with your fashionable dress and hair all done up so nice for the holiday, and it’s driving Flip mad. You had insisted that you match, so Flip was wearing the only suit he owned, which happened to be the same shade of navy blue as your dress. He’s standing right next to you, has his arm wrapped around your waist as you laugh brightly at a joke Jimmy is telling you as you sip on homemade eggnog that one of the secretaries brought, and all he wants to do is kiss you, get you away to some secluded place. 

He’s got something for you, something that’s been burning a hole in his pocket for the past seven nights, something he wants to give you so desperately but every time he tries there’s some sort of fuckin’ interruption. He smokes his cigarette, wishes he had stayed home with you instead of mingling and socializing. He shook so many hands so far this evening he felt like he was running for mayor of Colorado Springs.

“Have you noticed how people are getting more blasé about these space flights all the time? Pretty soon this’ll be known as taking the 9:04 out of Cape Kennedy.” Jimmy is a hand-talker, and he’s talking with his hands around his cigarette, a cup of eggnog dangerously close to getting sloshed all over the place when he says, “I still can’t understand why it should cost a quarter of a billion dollars to send a man to the moon. What’s he going by—cab?”

You nearly snort into your drink at that, and Flip, despite his general grouchy disposition, finds that he’s shaking his head with a laugh himself.

It’s then that the music kicks up another notch. The station party wasn’t a big enough or grand enough affair for live music of any real kind, so they had brought in the big radio and had it plugged into speakers that one of the other beat cops had managed to borrow from someone he knew.

“Oh!” You gasp, when the big band crackles over the speakers, looking up at Flip with those big eyes of yours that have him so weak in the fuckin’ knees, eyes big and bright when you ask with a smile, “Can we dance?”

And Flip doesn’t really want to dance, isn’t really all that good at it, but you’re too fuckin’ pretty so he pinches your nose and gives your face a little shake before collecting your cup of eggnog and setting it down to be dealt with later, before you drag him onto the dance floor.

_I cannot remember the worst December_

_Just watch those icicles form_

_What do I care if icicles form?_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm_

There’s no real formal style, Flip finds when he gets onto the dance floor – which is really just the bull pen but all the desks have been pushed away to the side to give enough space for people to show their stuff. Some of the file clerks are doing the twist, others the watusi or the mashed potato. Some were showing off their moves with the locomotion, others still were doing the pony.

You and Flip just moved and grooved to the music, and he spent most of the time twirling you round and round with his hand in yours, until his bad mood started to disappear. How could it stick around, when you were having so much fun?

“You know this song was written by Irving Berlin?” Flip asks as he pulls you right up close to his chest, and you pluck the cigarette from between his lips enough to give a very chaste kiss right square on his mouth, a kiss you laugh into because you’re still a little dizzy from the spinning.

“Not too bad.” You say, your chin propped up on his chest as you look up at him, “But I like the way Ms. Fitzgerald sings it.”

He grins at how cheeky you are, spins you around and around some more.

The trumpets are blaring and the saxophones are playing and Flip almost forgets all about everything, all about the little box in his pocket. He concentrates more on not stepping on your nice shoes, concentrates on not bumping into anyone, concentrates on the radiance that pours out of you.

The station had decorated for the holidays, Christmas and Hanukkah coming so close together this year. It was mostly decked in reds and greens but that was okay, they had put out a menorah for the Jewish cops and staff members, and silver was abundant. The music had been mostly Christmas music, but that was okay too – none of it mattered much to Flip, he was just happy to be with you.

He’s glad to notice you aren’t wearing anything, any jewelry, around your neck. You’re wearing the diamond earrings he gave you for your one year anniversary, but that’s all, and it makes his palms sweat in a way that has you smiling at him, always so loving and finding all his nerves endearing.

“You’re doing wonderfully.” You assure him, and he huffs out a chuckle.

You think he’s nervous because of the dancing, or the party, or the being social, and that’s so sweet. He kisses you, thinks you’re the sweetest thing on the fucking planet.

Because you are.

_Off with my overcoat, off with my gloves_

_Who needs an overcoat, I’m burning with love_

_My heart’s on fire and the flame grows higher_

Soon though, he gets more and more nervous. Fuck, he thinks to himself, he’s going to have to give it to you tonight – tonight’s the last chance he has for the holiday. He had been procrastinating all week, each of the nights when you’d been over at his house or he at yours, each night ended in hot and heavy make-outs in his dad’s car and then you going on your way, he going on his.

He needed to suck up the courage and do it. He was a cop now, he could do this! He could give you a piece of jewelry!

But it wasn’t just any old piece of jewelry, this was something special, something that he had no idea if you wanted or would like or even would wear. This was something he agonized over, saved up for ages for, put away a special fund from his paycheck in the bottom drawer of his dresser so his ma or pop wouldn’t find it, wouldn’t question him.

And looking at you, dancing with you, laughing with you when you accidentally step on his foot, he just can’t take it anymore, has to get you away.

Out of nowhere, he pulls you to the side of the dance floor, out and away from the public eye. He catches Jimmy’s gaze, and his best friend gives him a wink. Jimmy knew all about the box, of course. He was there to help him pick it out after all. Jimmy winks and Flip wants to bail, wants to just take you home and fuck you and kiss you and eat latkes and let that be that.

But you’re smiling and he loves you so fucking much, that he gives you hand a squeeze.

“Come with me for a minute?” He asks, tugging you in the direction of the back.

“Flip what – ” You ask, worried that something might be wrong with the crease in your brow.

“Just trust me?” He asks, pleads, and you nod.

“Lead the way.” You tell him, squeeze his hand right back.

_So I will weather the storm_

_What do I care how much it may storm_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm_

He brings you through the station and out to the back. There’s a small courtyard that he knows about, a small little place where there’s picnic tables and a tiny garden for people to enjoy a smoke break or a lunch break or a sanity break from the mundanity of filling out paperwork.

It’s almost pitch black outside, from it being so late, and it’s freezing cold. You immediately curl in around yourself, and Flip, feeling stupid about not grabbing your coats before bringing you back here, pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. He doesn’t mind the cold, is used to it from his lumber days – besides, the frigid December air feels like a blessing against his hot skin.

He didn’t realize how stuffy and warm it was inside the station until coming out here with you, and he nearly gulps down the crisp clean air.

“Everything okay honey?” You ask him, and his chest goes all warm at the way you call him that.

“Yeah ketsl, just.” He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, so he clears his throat and lights up another cigarette, the one he had been smoking accidentally dropped and stepped on in the throes of dancing.

“Just?” You prompt, reaching out a hand for him.

He takes it, walks you over to one of the picnic tables and sits you on top of it. With you seated up on the table, you’re almost as tall as he is, and he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you, real long and slow and deep. You’ve got half a mind to lay back on the table, he can tell, but he doesn’t want to fuck you here, not out in the open behind the station – you deserved better than that.

You deserved nothing but the best.

So, he steals one more kiss and, standing there between your legs back behind the station on that crisp clear evening on the last night of Hanukkah, he pulls out the small box that’s been jostling back and forth and all around in his pocket all evening.

Your eyes flick between the box and his, and he can see the gears turning in your head.

“Flip is this…?” You ask, wriggling your finger, and Flip feels so stupid he could smack his forehead.

“Huh – oh! No, no it’s nothing like that, not yet.” He assures you. He’s going to propose, he will, but he has a grand plan for that, a plan that doesn’t involve the station at all. That’s going to come later, but for now, “Open it, would you? You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

Even more confused now, you waste no time in cracking open the box, gasping and covering your mouth with your hand.

“Oh, Phil,” You say, pulling out the necklace from where it’s been kept safe and secure this whole time, “It’s _gorgeous_.”

“You think so?” Flip asks, knowing that he did good by the way you said his name like that, his _real_ name.

It’s a Magen David made up of butterflies that stick together with tiny magnets. In the soft light of the station windows and the moon, it sparkles and glitters and Flip is filled with so much pride at the way you keep shifting it back and forth to watch it shine.

“I do – put it on me?” You ask, grinning like the lovesick fool that you are, turning around and lifting your hair away from your neck so it doesn’t get caught in the chain.

“It’s real diamond and everything. Bubbe has one just like it, I made Zayde take me to the shop where he bought it for her, that was a fuckin’ nightmare and a half, but.” Flip’s hands shake when he puts it on you, leans down to kiss up the back of your neck, kiss across your shoulders, “It’s worth it, if you like it.”

“I love it.” You beam, and all of Flip’s anxiety rushes out of him, especially when you turn back around and collect him up in your arms, kiss him properly with an, “I love _you._ ”

“Say it again?” He asks, just because he likes to hear you say it.

“I love you.” You indulge him, making him laugh, making you laugh, because the both of you are so enamored with one another.

He helps you off the picnic table, winds his arm around your waist once more.

“Not yet, hm?” You ask, looking up at him, a soft blush on your cheeks at the insinuation that one day, one day you can expect a different little box, one made of velvet and give to you with a grand declaration.

He just pinches your nose again and kisses you cheek, holds the door open for you like the gentleman his ma raised him to be.

Not yet, he thinks. But with the way you’re smiling as the two of you walk back inside the station, the way you immediately show off how gorgeous the necklace is, the way you keep looking at him and dancing with him and kissing and laughing with him, he thinks, not yet but soon.

_I thought you ought to know my heart’s on fire_

_The flames they just leap higher_

_So I will weather the storm_

_Why do I care how much it storms_

_I’ve got my love_

_To keep me warm_

_I’ve got my love to keep me warm_

**Author's Note:**

> On the last night of Hanukkah here's a Flip oneshot <33 
> 
> This story is part of my 12 Days of Oneshots, where every day leading up to the first night of Hanukkah and Christmas Eve, there will be a short oneshot around 2k in length of our favorite boys! Each oneshot is based off my favorite holiday songs, but you won't know who gets which until the day it's posted!


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